


All There Is

by UliKulele



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Really bad attempts at humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:38:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UliKulele/pseuds/UliKulele
Summary: After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Crowley cannot stay at his own flat due to...unforeseen circumstances.What better way to circumvent this problem than by staying at his best friend's place?Who would have thought that after so many millenia spent together this would be the day that some carefully guarded feelings would come to light?





	All There Is

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there you lovely people! 
> 
> Before you go into this I just wanna say that I don't have anthing against Madonna as a singer or a person. (Tbh I know too little about Madonna to have an informed opinion about her. No, I won't specify why I'm telling you this right here)
> 
> This is set somewhat closely after the not-quite-apocalypse, but I didn't have a particular timeline in mind.
> 
> So I've read the books but only seen about two or three episodes of the show so far (because I've been short on time, not because I don't want to watch it) so if something is weird, it might be due to that or it might be due to the fact that I am bad at this. Either way, I hope that it is still a fun story to read.

Aziraphale had just decided to celebrate himself finishing another novel from his favourite series with some freshly brewed tea and some confections from the bakery down the road that always were in stock in his fridge (Some miracle would have it that the old baker would always conveniently lose sight of exactly three of his home-made delicacies in the morning. In turn, he would end up with some discrepancy or another in his billing system in the evening that would add up to exactly three more pastries sold than the cash register had recorded. For a brief while he had began to doubt his mental well-being, but had eventually shrugged it off and decided that as long as it didn‘t ruin him, he could make do with his register‘s quirks.) when the bookshop‘s door banged open with a singular purpose that, along with the fact that the door had been firmly locked in order to deter any nosy customer from interrupting his reading, could only announce the arrival of one particular person.

Sure enough, Crowley stepped into Aziraphale‘s little kitchen (that so far had very nearly never seen any cooking; after a horrendous occurence in circa 1923, when Aziraphale had first attempted to bake a pie to commemorate the anniversary of their first meeting and had somehow managed to set the kitchen and his favourite bow-tie on fire before even switching on the oven, they both had decided that perhaps it would be best to stick to store-bought indulgences) just moments later, clearly fuming from rage.

Seeing as Crowley frequently liked to revel in his annoyance over the small inconveniences in life the same way that Aziraphale might luxuriate in scratching a particularly stubborn itch, the latter only reacted to the new arrival by placing another cup next to his own as he filled it with the freshly brewed water. He took his dear time to turn around towards Crowley, the hand in which he held the mug already half-way extended before he managed to take in his oldest (and arguably only) friend.

To say he was puzzled was an understatement. – Though then again, saying that he was shocked would have been an exaggeration. Aziraphale had seen some strange things in his long life time and a great number of them were related to Crowley in some way or another.

Either way, there Crowley stood, sunglasses askew, shoulder seams of his fancy leather-jacket ripped, left pantleg missing along with the shoe that once went with it, leaving Crowley‘s socked foot in stark contrast to Aziraphale‘s pale grey kitchen tiles. Worst of all, his hair had been tossled thouroughly, leaving it to fall into his eyes wildly. 

Since Crowley didn‘t make a move to take the tea from him, Aziraphale simply placed it on the kitchen counter next to him while taking a long sip from his own cup. He took his dear time taking in the state of his visitor, hardly noticing how he was burning the top of his mouth as he did so. Finally, he said:

“My dear Crowley, to what do I owe the delight of welcoming you here?“

Crowley seemingly needed a moment to shake himself out of his own reverie before looking at Aziraphale more intently.

“Angel, I have to stay at your place for a little while.“ He replied as he drew himself up to his full height, evidently trying to put enough conviction behind his statement so that he wouldn‘t be refused. 

He was only mildly successful at seeming imposing, however, which was likely partly owed to his half-exposed pink underwear with something sparkly written on it in a font too small for Aziraphale to read at a distance. (One may ask themselves how and why an angel would have trouble with their eye-sight what with their divinity and everything. A possible explanation would be that their eyes were not adjusted to the physical world and therefore more prone to seeing the divine rather than the ordinary. This, however, was not the correct explanation. The truth of the matter was that Aziraphale simply believed that any proper bookshop owner ought to wear a pair of glasses and therefore his eyesight became bad.)

“Of course, my dear. You know you are always welcome on my premises. I was looking forward to starting that wine I got delivered about...oh what was it? Three years ago?...with you anyway.“

Crowley visibly deflated a bit at that. “Oh. I didn‘t think you would give in so easily.“ He said, somewhat cheapishly.

“As I said, you are always very welcome. Though it would be appreciated if you miracled yourself some new clothes while you are here.“

A blink of an eye later, Crowley stood impeccably dressed as always, hair slicked back, nothing giving away the state he arrived in.

“Don‘t you want to know what happened to me?“

“Oh, of course I do. You know how curious I am. I just assumed that you would get to it without prompting anyway.“

When Crowley‘s lips seemed to be moving into something that closely resembled a pout, Aziraphale flashed him a warm smile.

“Oh dear, whatever happened to you?“

“It‘s the plants, angel! Those traitors! They started a revolt!“

Crowley bristled as Aziraphale let out a small chuckle.

“A revolt? How so?“

“They took over the flat while I was gone! Wrapped their sneaky little sticks and tendrils around everything! I hardly made it in and out through the door to get the car keys before they tried to grab me and tear me apart!“

At that, Aziraphale broke out into all-out laughter. It took him all of three minutes to entirely compose himself again, but even then, little bouts of giggles kept errupting from him under Crowley‘s stern eye (presumably. It was hard to tell with those glasses sometimes).

“Do you think that‘s funny? I barely made it out alive! They are probably trying to escape through the windows as we speak. They already cracked the first ones. I could see them from the streets when I escaped.“

“Well, I do think that this may be a tiny bit of retribution don‘t you think?“

Crowley furrowed his brow in confusion at that. “Retribution? How?“

“For the way you‘ve treated your pets!“

“My – what? Plants can‘t be pets, angel! They are decorations.“

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at that. “Let‘s not get caught up in the semantics of things. It‘s not of importance what you call the little creatures you hold captive against their will inside your accomodation. What matters is that you have been exceedingly strict with them –“

“Oh, don‘t be silly! They needed to learn some basic obedience!“

“How fitting for you to speak of obedience. Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘You reap what you sow‘?“

Crowley let out an indignant snort at that. “I made that one up ages ago. We both know that it is hogwash. There are plenty of people who sow, say...potatoes, but reap carrots. Or a whole bunch of granite that was carefully carved to look like a potato but hurts like hell when you bite into it“

“First of all, those were exceptions because you did that deliberately to mess with people –“

“ –Quite successfully, may I add.“

“–but I meant this in a figurative sense, anyway.“ 

“Oh, in a figurative sense. But that‘s nonsense, too. In fact, I am fairly certain that the worse you sow figuratively the better you reap –“

“Come one, name one example where –“

“Madonna.“

Aziraphale froze, then pulled his face into an impressive pout of his own before nodding solemnly.

“Okay then, point taken. But either way, I can‘t help but think that there is some kind of _karmic_ quality to your whole dilemma.“

“I can‘t say that I see what you mean. Though aren‘t you and I basically taking the roles of Karma down here anyway? –At the very least we must be the closest thing to it there is, right? And I can‘t remember the last time we punished anyone by making a forest grow inside their flat.“

“Oh, I believe that was during that one lovely summer back when the crusades were still going.“

A wicked grin spread over Crowley‘s face along with a far-off look as he reminisced over old times. “Ah yes, it was a sight to behold – half the palace overgrown with poison ivy. All the knights jumped into the castle dig naked as the day they were born. Of course someone –“ He directed a glare towards Aziraphale. “–had to remove the crocodiles before they had the chance to get to them, but they still had a rash for days and that was all the accomplishment I needed.“ 

“Well, I‘m glad you had your fun at least. As you may recall I had not much of a chance to take in the scene because I got accused of treason and sorcery and was violently discorporated on account of supposedly being a witch.“

Crowley flinched, all of a sudden guilt-stricken. “Was that where you went? I had lost track of you in all the excitement. I couldn‘t figure out why you avoided me for the fifty years that followed. I missed you ever so much.“

Aziraphale blushed slightly, fumbling at a non-existent snag in his sweater vest as he avoided Crowley‘s bespectacled gaze. “And I you.“ He replied quietly.

The kitchen fell quiet for a moment or two while the supernatural beings inside it put a lot of effort into ostensibly looking anywhere but at each other (Crowley arguably being at an advantage due to his sunglasses that enabled him to simply turn his head slightly pretending to stare at the wall while actually getting a good side-eye view of Aziraphale. He took in the other‘s insistent blush with a mixture of mirth and another feeling he was not quite willing to identify. Aziraphale, on the other hand, had picked up a teaspoon which he seemed to be twirling nervously between his fingers while he actually attempted to find the right angle to see the reflection of Crowley‘s other reflection in the toaster). 

Eventually, Crowley clapped his hands together. “Well, what matters anyway is that you are allowing me to stay for a bit. How very gracious of you. Now where is that wine you mentioned earlier? We ought to start this arrangement right.“

Aziraphale nodded his head towards an unassuming door to his right. “It‘s in the cellar, the first one at eyelevel right next to the door.“ 

In some private part of his mind he wondered about the significance of this new arrangement. Would this perhaps become the continuation of the Arrangement? Things had been...unclear since the apocalypse that wasn‘t, what with Crowley and Aziraphale being abandoned by their respective sides. Suddenly they didn‘t have a need for their old pretenses anymore, yet some things remained unsaid after having been hidden away for each other‘s safety for so long. Though perhaps that was only Aziraphale. Making the decision to die at Crowley‘s side just to be saved anti-climatically just short of being smitten had certainly shattered his carefully constructed bareers around feelings he had avoided for too long to accurately name anymore. All he knew was that now they ate at him like a festering wound that had been neglected and now delivered its vengeance with an ever-present ache.

“Your eyelevel or mine?“

Aziraphale puffed out his cheeks. “Both. You are not taller than me.“ Then, after Crowley had reemerged from the cellar, wine bottle raised victoriously above his head as he kicked the door shut behind himself with the heel of his fancy boots (were they boots?), he added: “So, will I be required to make any adjustments to my accomodation for the duration of your stay?“

Crowley looked up from where he was pouring the wine into two glasses he had set on the countertop. “What kind of changes do you have in mind?“

Aziraphale made a vague sweeping gesture with his hands. “I don‘t know. What do you need to feel at home? Should I, too, erect suggestive statues right at the front door?“

Crowley snorted as he passed one of the glasses on to Aziraphale who accepted it with a courteous nod. “You don‘t have to, but it certainly would attract some more interesting customers than the bores that frequented this place so far.“

The other shuddered at that suggestion. “No thank you. If there is something I don‘t need more of it‘s...customers.“ He choked out the last word like it was causing him considerable discomfort. 

“Ha! I might make a proper misantrophist out of you yet!“

“Goodness gracious, Crowley, I do like humans! I just don‘t like it when they try to buy my books. – And may I add, so do you.“

“Yeah, I guess the humans are alright. They made up so many great ways to pester each other that I can basically just lean back and my work does itself.“

Aziraphale looked at Crowley thoughtfully over the rim of his wine glass. “Well, I believe that technically speaking we are both out of a job for now. Perhaps instead of pestering humans you should do something nice for them for once.“

Crowley sputtered indignantly at that, a fine trail of wine making its way down his chin as he did so. Aziraphale licked his lips as his eyes followed its descent. “I think I did enough good by saving the world, if anything I am due a well-deserved holiday. And besides, _I_ am out of a job. _You_ are a business owner, albeit a reluctant one.“ He gestured around the shop as he made his point.

Aziraphale‘s gaze briefly swept over the leather spines he could make out through the kitchen doorway and smiled fondly. It was true; while he didn‘t enjoy handing over his precious literature to anyone else, he did rather like his role as a bookshop owner. Books were truly a delight, one of the greatest human inventions high up in his particular fancies along with baked goods and sushi. He sighed dreamily until Crowley cleared his throat, clearly discontent with being tuned out for a bit. Aziraphale redirected his gaze into his general direction, but couldn‘t quite keep his fond smile off of his features, if anything it grew as he cast a look at his oldest friend‘s features.

“Those books, they really are quite marvelous. And they keep making more of them! They are quite clever, those humans. One would think that something as insignificant as them would run out of new stories eventually, but they never do.“

Once again, Crowley snorted, but this time there was no bite behind it. To him, Aziraphale appeared quite...(dare he say enchanting?) when he got like this. Usually it would be later in the evening, when the drink had already taken its toll. Hearing his friend marveling at one thing or another was one of Crowley‘s secret pleasures, one he had come to look forward to whenever they would get together like this. He felt his heart swell at Aziraphale‘s unwavering goodness, his ability to find a spark of joy in mundane things that Crowley usually treated with cynism. For a while, he wondered why he wasn‘t envious of this particular ability his angel possessed, until he eventually realised that it was his own rotten nature that let him appreciate Aziraphale‘s purity as the precious thing it was.

“Crowley? My dear, are you feeling quite alright? I feel like you are about to stare a hole into my forehead.“

“Yes.“ Crowley said, absentmindedly, before leaning in closer towards the angel who, curiously, did not move out of his way. “Yes, angel. I am quite alright. I was just thinking that there is only one thing to make me truly feel at home.“

“Yes? What is it? Whatever it is, I shall make sure to acquire it promptly.“

Crowley‘s lips stretched into a cheeky grin. “No need to acquire anything. It‘s already right here. I‘ve felt alone in a palast of my own when you weren‘t around and I‘ve felt at peace in the middle of the desert when you were with me. I think there is a pattern to be studied there.“

Aziraphale‘s eyes drifted across Crowley‘s face searchingly, but seemingly dissatisfied. His voice came out raspy when he replied. “I- Crowley, I don‘t think that I understand what it is that you are saying.“

Crowley sighed, flight of fancy cut short by what seemed like obvious discomfort in his friend‘s face. He shouldn‘t take advantage of Aziraphale‘s kind nature like this, he thought, and therefore took a quick step back, situating himself so that he could casually lean against the countertop. “I am saying that being with my dearest friend is the one thing I can reliably tell you I need to feel comfortable anywhere. And luckily you are right here, so everything else is just trifles.“ 

Crowley looked at his shoes (really now, are they shoes?) for a moment, briefly ashamed for his statement was close to the truth, but still at its core a lie. He had spent long enough among humans, eliciting their basest desires, revelling in all the bad they could give to know when someone was in love, that most horrible of feelings that made them deaf to reason and could so easily lead them to their doom. Even if he hadn‘t figured it out millenia before, there wouldn‘t have been a shred of doubt left in his mind about the way he felt for Aziraphale after he agreed to walk to his death alongside him. Before, many years before, Crowley would have never considered dying for anyone, least of all himself. He never had had a cause to fight for, never any righteous fury to spare, no need to get involved with others‘ menial affairs. 

When he looked at Aziraphale, however, he felt it. The need, stronger still than any base instinct for survival, to give himself up should it somehow better Aziraphale‘s prospects, the deep and disturbing recognition of the fact that his existence should be forfeited without the other in it. Crowley felt that the angel possessed every bit of goodness that Crowley lost when he fell and then, still, so much more. To Aziraphale, he thought, loving something so much that he would give himself up for it came easily and it made him brave and kind. Who was Crowley to claim that love for his own? To proposition someone who loved so much that he might not want to break Crowley‘s heart but also might not understand the singularity with which Crowley loved him? 

Every day, Crowley felt the absence of the light he himself cast out and somehow Aziraphale‘s glow warmed that sore spot rather than aggravating it like all the other angels, all the other demons, sometimes even the humans did. Was that not enough? He himself was corrupted and he knew that he was going to corrupt Aziraphale, too, if he didn‘t keep his mouth shut. Bloody hell, he still might, even if he did. 

Crowley was ripped out of his deep contemplation by a joyous clap and a noise of delight coming from Aziraphale. When he looked up, he felt his insides warm up as he watched his friend‘s face light up. “Oh dear, is that really so?“ Aziraphale asked gleefully; then, after a moment, his face fell slightly as he mustered Crowley and found his expression lacking the appropriate happiness to go with his previous statement. “Is this one of your jokes I am not getting?“ He questioned after another beat of silence.

Crowley opened his mouth to say something, briefly even thought about taking this as an easy way out and claiming that he indeed hadn‘t been serious rather than revealing too much of what was really on his mind. Before he could come to a decision, however, Aziraphale spoke up once again, this time sounding like it took him a great deal of effort to choke out the words.

“Because this is not a joking matter to me. I couldn‘t bear it if it was to you. My feelings – I – I simply couldn‘t take it.“

This time, Crowley rushed to answer as to not continue to hurt the angel‘s feelings. “No, of course it wasn‘t a joke. You are my best friend. There really is nobody whose company I appreciate more than yours. Just think of all the things we have been through, you and I.“

Aziraphale‘s smile returned at that, though it didn‘t illuminate his eyes the way it did before. He poured himself some more wine and took a long sip before he could manage a reply. “I must be a sorry replacement for all the acquaintances you have down there though. Don‘t you think you will grow weary of me as our exile here on earth grows longer?“

Crowley actually barked a quick laugh at that. “I‘d sooner grow weary of earth before I‘d grow weary of you. And I‘d even sooner grow weary of all my acquaintances in hell. They very truly are an awful lot and not one good friend to be found down there. I expect it must be the exact opposite up there though? You guys probably probably never play mean tricks on your friends and everyone always listens so bloody well to their friends‘ problems and there is a lot of hugging and what not?“

“You of all people should know that angels make for miserable friends. There is just too much...grace involved, I‘d say. A proper friendship just can‘t always be graceful. It keeps you at a distance. Ours isn‘t, anyways, and I don‘t think that I would want to have it any other way. No, I don‘t think all the angels in heaven could replace one of you.“

“So what you are saying is that if there were two of me I could send heaven packing?“ Crowley asked, amusement clear in his voice.

“You certainly could. Well, I suppose that technically the two of us already did. Perhaps that‘s all it takes. Well, that, some children, a witch and...what was it that other chap did? Well, that is besides the point. My point actually is that you could never be replaced. On the contrary, I would never let a chance to keep you even closer slip away like that.“

Crowley‘s features grew wicked as he took another step forward and looked deep into Aziraphale‘s eyes. “Closer like this?“

From his vantage point, Crowley could see Aziraphale‘s pupils dilate as he swallowed. How curious. Maybe it was the wine.

“Yes.“ Aziraphale breathed as he leaned in even closer. So close in fact, that Crowley could feel his wine-heavy breath brush his face, something he would have ordinarly thought repulsive but now only made his heart beat even faster.

“Pardon me?“ Crowley asked, his rapt attention zeroed in on his best friend‘s face.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I said yes. I would like to have you closer like this, literally. Closer figuratively and spatially and in whatever other way there is. Any way you‘d like me to come closer I‘d gladly accept.“ For a split-second it ocurred to Aziraphale how strange this was, to voice emotions he was previously sure he would never address. He had been certain that these things were better left unsaid and too much to burden upon Crowley for no good reason. Just now the reasons evaded him though and even as existential terror started digging a hole into his stomach he could not stop staring at Crowley‘s face with a mixture of great horror and great affection.

“Aziraphale, do _you_ know what it sounds like you are saying right now?“ 

“Does it sound like I am saying that I love you? Because if it sounds like I am saying that you are the one thing I love more than anything else and that you are infinitely precious to me and I wouldn‘t replace you for the world or heaven or hell or whatever else there is, then it sounds like what I intend it to mean.“

Crowley felt like his brain had short-circuited at that. This couldn‘t be right. This couldn‘t be real. There was just no way that something like this could come out of Aziraphale‘s mouth, out of his angel. There were a thousand things, a billion people and however many angels there are, that Aziraphale ought to love more than him, but here he stood professing that it was Crowley (and only Crowley!) he wanted. Crowley should put a stop to this while he still had the chance to. Something must have addled Aziraphale‘s mind. There was just no way that he would give into this lunacy any other way. Certainly he of all people must know that Crowley was irredeemably rotten, too spoiled to come close to being good enough for someone like –

He was, quite rudely, interrupted by Aziraphale abruptly closing the gap between them and smashing his mouth against Crowley‘s rather hastily. Automatically, Crowley‘s hands came up to wrap themselves around the angel‘s shoulders. Just as he felt the other twitch to pull away, he moved to press further into the kiss. It wasn‘t the greatest kiss there was, not the best Crowley‘s ever had from a technical standpoint, but it was sweet and warm and it lit a spark of hope and joy and something else in Crowley‘s chest where there had been no warmth in millenia.

After they finally managed to pull away from the kiss, the two of them spent a few moments just staring each other wide-eyed, a flush high on their respective cheeks and slightly out of breath. Then, they broke into a silly bout of giggles. 

Aziraphale moved to repour their glasses once more and made an inviting gesture towards the living room. “That‘s that then.“ He said. “I do believe that it‘s time for one of your silly game shows on the telly.“

As they settled comfortably on the sofa, Crowley leaned in close towards Aziraphale‘s ear and spoke to him in a low voice. “I love you too, you know. More than I could possibly put into words without abducting someone more adept at it and forcing them to write it out for me. I will stay with you for however long it is that you‘ll have me and then I‘ll stick around for a little while longer in case you change your mind.“ 

Crowley was delighted by the way Aziraphale‘s cheeks flushed at that and the little hairs in his nape rose. This would have likely ended up in more kissing if it hadn‘t been for a newsflash on the telly announcing that there was apparently a sudden infestion of overgrown houseplants seemingly holding an apartment building hostage somewhere in London.

**Author's Note:**

> So...I hope you enjoyed reading? I briefly had doubts about publishing this before I decided that I need to get over myself.
> 
> Anyway, I really love Crowley's houseplants. I like to think that they overtook half a borough before the government gave in to their demands and gave them five million quid in small, unmarked bills, a flight to the Bahamas and all the fertilizer they could guzzle down. They are now retired and Crowley really misses them. They write each other postcards occasionally. (Okay, I'll stop before I write an entire fic in the comments.) 
> 
> Btw I'm referencing a crack fic from another fandom that I read way back when I was still in school at an unspecified point within this story. If that bit sounded familiar to you, go you! (Feel free to let me know if you think you know which one it is)
> 
> I hope that you folks are having a nice day.


End file.
